Words Like Candy
by Rhiann
Summary: A series of random vignettes, taking place during New Moon. A really unapologetic excuse for lots of TEH ANGST, woe :P.
1. Rapturous

_Disclaimer_: Twilight_ and all related elements © Stephenie Meyer and Little, Brown and Company 2005. All characters and situations—save those created by the author for use solely in this fan fiction—are copyright Stephenie Meyer __and are used without permission. No profit is made off this story and is for entertainment purposes only._

A/N: A series of vignettes set during either _Twilight_ or _New Moon_, from prompts given by members of Topaz & Debussy over on LJ.

For palenovember527.

oOo

It was funny, how every single detail of her face had been burned indelibly into his memory.

He had been terrified of losing her, little fragments of memory at a time, every instant he had been away. Now, it almost seemed silly.

She was imprinted on his heart; every gesture she made, every facial expression. And of course, the memory of her scent and voice had never dimmed with the time apart, never faded. Perhaps, he mused, that was the true meaning of immortality. Never being forgotten.

Her hand, so small and warm in his, still clutched at him like a lifeline. The breeze stirred her hair- just for a moment- and he rapturously breathed her in. In the end, though, memories had nothing on being in her presence again. _Bella. His._


	2. Flowers

_Disclaimer_: Twilight_ and all related elements © Stephenie Meyer and Little, Brown and Company 2005. All characters and situations—save those created by the author for use solely in this fan fiction—are copyright Stephenie Meyer __and are used without permission. No profit is made off this story and is for entertainment purposes only._

A/N: A series of vignettes set during either _Twilight_ or _New Moon_, from prompts given by members of Topaz & Debussy over on LJ.

This one's for moondestiny.

oOo

Flowers were meant to represent something, everyone knew that.

Never aging meant never being suitably old enough to complain about the way the world had gone downhill since your youth, and Rosalie felt the injustice was great, on many occasions.

Not that it had stopped her from doing so, of course, but_ really. _

"You shouldn't buy those," she snapped, glaring at Alice. Alice was bending over a large vase of white gladiolas, letting the petals tickle her cheeks.

Alice looked dubious, and shrugged gracefully. "I think Esme would like them."

"Well, she won't. They're funeral flowers."

Alice straightened, eyeing her speculatively. "I like the...carnations?"

Rose thought. "All right."

Her friend concealed a smile, bent over a basket of vibrant flowers.

"You know," began Rosalie, "I remember a time when carnations meant…"


	3. Breathe

_Disclaimer_: Twilight_ and all related elements © Stephenie Meyer and Little, Brown and Company 2005. All characters and situations—save those created by the author for use solely in this fan fiction—are copyright Stephenie Meyer __and are used without permission. No profit is made off this story and is for entertainment purposes only._

A/N: A series of vignettes set during either _Twilight_ or _New Moon_, from prompts given by members of Topaz & Debussy over on LJ.

For auboundgrl. (I love her for this one)

oOo

The fire burned inside him, eating at his brain, his muscles, his heart.

_Breathe._

It shouldn't have been like this, Quil thought desperately, blinking back hot tears that trailed down his cheeks but never quite made it past his lips.

It had always, always been him and the others. Quil, Embry, Paul, Jake.

"_Something's wrong," he had said, his voice hollow. He glanced nervously at the group of boys that loitered languidly across the street. _

"_I'm sure it's nothing," Jake had said, his baritone voice confident, but his eyes betrayed him. His eyes gave him away, as they had always given him away even when they were boys._

Quil shuddered, and the movement seemed to rip through him. His hands were shaking; why were they shaking?

_Breathe._

It was wrong, this, being alone. His stomach twisted and knotted, and he would have heaved had he anything in it. How could he do this alone? Deep shuddering sobs threatened to break free and cut off his breath, but he swallowed them, coughing wetly.

_Breathe._

He was alone, the others had gone. Fierce emotion pulled through him, searching for outlets. He couldn't keep himself still. Tears that dripped from his eyes evaporated before they'd hit skin.

Jacob's smile. Emry's firm slap on his shoulder, stinging but feeling good. Paul's coarse humor, three friends laughing.

If they wouldn't come to him, he'd go to them. He closed his eyes.

_Breathe_.


	4. Confusion

_Disclaimer_: Twilight_ and all related elements © Stephenie Meyer and Little, Brown and Company 2005. All characters and situations—save those created by the author for use solely in this fan fiction—are copyright Stephenie Meyer __and are used without permission. No profit is made off this story and is for entertainment purposes only._

A/N: A series of vignettes set during either _Twilight_ or _New Moon_, from prompts given by members of Topaz & Debussy over on LJ.

This one's for KatieLibertine. Thanks for the delicious Jacob Black prompt!

oOo

It was hard, thought Jake, to be Jacob Black.

He watched his pale friend surreptitiously from his crouched position behind the dingy motorcycle, noticing how she'd managed to get a large smear of grease on her forehead. She hadn't even been near any motor grease, but that was Bella.

She was perched precariously atop the workbench over him, staring distantly off into air, a faraway look on her face. These little moments- the way her face looked as she stared, like her soul had been brutally sucked out of her- these moments Jake hated. Every time he caught her at it, looking as if she was dead to everything, Jacob hated Edward Cullen with renewed passion.

Someday, he thought sullenly, he'd get Cullen back for all this. It wasn't fair to Bella, having left her like this.

It wasn't fair to _him_, having her like this.

Not that he _had_ her. Jake cursed rapidly in a dark corner of his brain. They were _friends_.

For now.

Maybe.

"Jake? What's wrong?"

His head shot up. Bella looked at him nervously, and he covered what must have been a stone glare with a laugh.

"Just trying to figure out these wires," he replied, managing to sound nonplussed.

"Oh," she said, her voice small. She smiled though, and it lit up her face like a sunrise.

"I'm so glad we're doing this, Jake."

He tried to smile back, nodded, then ducked down undercover again.

Maybe the one losing his soul was him.


	5. Regret

_Disclaimer_: Twilight_ and all related elements © Stephenie Meyer and Little, Brown and Company 2005. All characters and situations—save those created by the author for use solely in this fan fiction—are copyright Stephenie Meyer __and are used without permission. No profit is made off this story and is for entertainment purposes only._

A/N: A series of vignettes set during either _Twilight_ or _New Moon_, from prompts given by members of Topaz & Debussy over on LJ.

For death. (Geez, I never thought writing Bella would be so hard)

oOo

The word "regret" never showed up in _Romeo and Juliet._

I looked turned over my copy in my hands- my own, I hadn't needed to borrow one from the school's beaten and defeated stash. It was tattered, dog-eared in the best passages- well loved.

Romeo and Juliet, star-crossed lovers.

Sighing, I let the book fall gently on my bedspread next to me. After the events in Volterra- I remembered them with pangs of fear and gratitude that mixed uncomfortably together- I found myself coming back to the story, reading over passages randomly, finding older lines I'd forgotten.

Regret never showed up, not once.

If Juliet had lived, I wondered, would she have ever thought about Paris while she was with her Romeo?

Paris betrothed to Juliet, not knowing she'd already given her heart to someone else.

I picked at the coverlet with my fingers. Coming home with Edward had been wonderful, magnificent, knowing that he really loved me- it was like the time without him had been swept away. But occasionally I'd hear the roar of a motorcycle, or hear Charlie talking to someone who could only have been Billy Black and Jacob's face would flash in my memory. We had barely spoken since I'd been back.

_People forget that Paris dies in the end too. _

oOo

A/N 2: I'm looking for more prompts….if you feel like throwing me a suggestion, leave a comment with a character/pairing, random word, and book (Twilight/New Moon) :) I can't promise I'll do them all, but I'll try! (Hint: Prompts with unusual characters/pairings/words are more likely to get done.)


	6. Pizza

_Disclaimer_: Twilight_ and all related elements © Stephenie Meyer and Little, Brown and Company 2005. All characters and situations—save those created by the author for use solely in this fan fiction—are copyright Stephenie Meyer __and are used without permission. No profit is made off this story and is for entertainment purposes only._

A/N: I'm sorry whoever gets this twice. seemed to eat the latest chapter after it's little reboot last night. Oo

A series of vignettes set during either _Twilight_ or _New Moon_, from prompts given by members of Topaz & Debussy over on LJ.

This one's for Kyrene once Blood Roses, who wanted something with Charlie!

oOo

There were three things in the world that Charlie Swan truly loved with all of his heart.

One was an escape from the reality of everyday living; the time where he could sit and contemplate irrelevant trivialities and let go of the troubles that belonged to Forks' Chief of Police and Charles Swan. On the lake everything seemed to melt away, the waters and quiet bringing nature sharply into focus, cutting out all extraneous thought. It was a long cherished (and secret) wish that someday he could retire somewhere along these banks that he frequented so often, find peace. Some days the lake seemed so far away.

The second thing he loved he no longer allowed his mind to dwell upon, even for the briefest moments. Thinking her name now only provided small pangs of regret and pain, compared to the deep bouts of depression that were mainstays in the years following his divorce. Not bad for nearly nineteen years of work.

The third was Bella, of course.

His daughter, so much like Renee (he felt wistful) and yet even more like himself at times. He knew; Bella had never felt things like Renee felt things- glorious heart on her glorious sleeve, emotions high in her throat. Bella swallowed her emotions, kept them close, much like Charlie did.

Charlie blinked, surprised at himself. He wondered what the guys at the station would say if they could see Chief Swan now, sitting about like a daft moon-eyed poet, moping about feelings.

His daughter was sitting next to that Cullen boy, limbs curled up in an effort to be as close to him as possible without looking as if that was her intent. She probably thought it was an extremely subtle maneuver. As if Charlie hadn't ever been a teenager once.

Edward Cullen. Charlie grimaced to himself, hating the fact that he was in the house again. He should have listened to Billy when he'd first warned him about his daughter's new boyfriend, but his friend had seemed so sporadic, so strange in his warnings. And the Quileutes and the Cullens had never gotten along, for whatever reason. Charlie assumed it was something to do with an old feud over land; the reservation elders had long memories and the Cullens surely had never gone out of their way to ingratiate themselves with anyone in Forks.

Still, he was grateful to Dr. Cullen and to Alice for all they had done for Bella. It was this boy he could not forgive. He wondered how Bella could have, after what he had done to her.

The clock that sat atop the television blinked, showing 10:01. Aha.

"It's ten, Bella," Charlie said nonchalantly, looking at the television screen, trying to chase out the note of triumph out of his voice.

He heard Bella give a pained sigh, the couch shift underneath as the two teenagers- _children_- stood. He watched them out of the corner of his eye.

The Cullen boy turned, leaned in close to whisper something to Bella, and Charlie coughed. Bella shot him an angry glare.

"I'm going to walk Edward to his car, okay Dad?" she called, not waiting for his answer. Charlie turned grudgingly just in time to see her whip out the door, Cullen behind her. He sat back, eyes on the clock. He'd give her two minutes. That was fair.

The door slammed a few moments later, and Bella stalked back into the room. "I'm going to put away the rest of the food."

"All right."

Charlie had found himself buying pizza and other take out more often than late; it was the best he could do. He doubted vaguely that Bella ever minded- she had taken it upon herself to cook most nights ever since she'd first moved to Forks but since last summer and her- _episode_- Charlie had felt guilty about it. He wondered if she had burned out from it all- thinking she should take care of him, of school, her injuries from her little foray in Phoenix… she had become a walking shadow of what she had been when she first arrived.

"Is…_Edward_ going to be here tomorrow?" He said, not bothering to turn around.

"You don't need to be so hostile, Dad," Bella muttered mutinously from the kitchen.

"I don't like that boy, Bella," replied Charlie sternly; feeling impotent all the same. "And I don't like him in this house, either."

"Fine, we'll stay out of the house."

"_Bella_."

"I'm going to bed. Good night, Dad."

Charlie exhaled, frustrated. He heard Bella go up the staircase, and then the house was quiet. Peaceful, he thought grumpily. Maybe he and Billy could make it up to the lake this weekend.


	7. Werewolf

_Disclaimer_: Twilight_ and all related elements © Stephenie Meyer and Little, Brown and Company 2005. All characters and situations—save those created by the author for use solely in this fan fiction—are copyright Stephenie Meyer __and are used without permission. No profit is made off this story and is for entertainment purposes only._

A/N: Wow, more angst! You guys are surprised, right? Guys?

For Clairdelune92.

oOo

Things in Forks have _changed_.

For one, the town absolutely reeks with the lingering stench of the skinwalkers. His mouth lifts in a snarl; he can almost taste it on the edge of his tongue. This town no longer belongs to the Cullens- it has become unfamiliar territory to his kind. The Quileute dogs can be seen lurking at the edges, searching for weaknesses.

The woods no longer belong to him.

They belong to no one, now. The trees that were once so familiar and welcoming are hostile; their shade has become shadow, and there are _things_ lurking _there_ and _there, _things that he cannot speak to Bella about, things he cannot even properly articulate to Carlisle.

Alice knows. She senses the growing threat of the forest, their enemies growing closer, gaining. Victoria has lived to hunt another day, and the wolves have gained strength and are watching. Waiting, for any fatal misstep.

It is dangerous in Forks.

He cannot leave.

He cannot stay.

If he takes her, he will condemn his family to war. If he leaves, he condemns himself.

Whether there is a God or not, he is damned.

oOo.


End file.
